


Reignition

by panpinecone



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Violence, Burns, Genital Torture, M/M, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Pain, Painful Sex, Public Humiliation, Revenge, Suffering, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8594749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panpinecone/pseuds/panpinecone
Summary: The desire for vengeance can burn like a fire. Some fires never stop burning.





	

Volgin slowly wakes, dully reigniting like the glowing embers left in the wake of a hastily abandoned campfire.

Distantly, he can feel a presence, one that's spent enough time commanding his every move for him not to recognize it: It's that _thing_. He hesitates to call it a child, knowing it only as the faceless specter haunting him since his untimely death and... Subsequent reawakening.

Not a _life_.

The few times its control has wavered, he's been left lost and powerless, with hardly anything—save for his own willpower—to keep his broken corpse of a body up and moving. He's become _dependent_ on something that, for all intents and purposes, is his own personal puppet master.

He despises it.

But regardless of any personal enmity he feels against the puppet master, one very important detail stands out to him: Its presence is quiet, the strings connecting them to each other now slack.

The puppet master is nearby, but its attention is elsewhere.

Volgin lies there, piecing together what's happened. He'd been fighting, strings pulled taut, and he'd been glad for it, had wanted to fight, to face off against his enemy.

He'd wanted to defeat Snake.

And then—

Oh, yes. He remembers now.

Chaos, confusion, fading power. He'd been abandoned, but held on tight to his willpower, until he could hold on no more.

He remembers how certain he'd been that he'd never wake again.

But somehow, here he is.

The puppet master's psychic connection is faint, but near enough to grant Volgin some much-needed strength. He knows he's weak, his body too old and destroyed to hold out for much longer without direct control, but he can still draw power from the connection.

For the first time since his death, he's free. Free to do as he pleases with his miserable excuse of a life, free to get his revenge.

But his time is limited. He must act soon.

Fortunately, whereas the puppet master had possessed a flair for the dramatic, moving his strings ever so slowly and rarely letting him finish off his opponents in a single blow, Volgin himself doesn't have that problem. Instead, he's now at liberty to run just as fast as he pleases towards his goal.

Speaking of running, should he?

Volgin eyes the cage bars surrounding him. They don't look particularly strong, and he's sure he could bend them with the use of his borrowed power. But just because he could doesn't mean that he should. It would waste valuable time, and why spend his effort on bending bars when he could just—

—teleport into existence nearer his target?

He's on a solitary strut, a short distance away from a larger structure. Some quick glancing around confirms that he's on an interconnected series of platforms somewhere out at sea. Interesting, but hardly worth devoting any more thought to, not when he can _feel_ his goal so near.

Keeping his flames as low as possible, he makes a run for it, muscles fueled by the latent energy trickling down the puppet master's lax strings.

Men start yelling from all directions, leaping out of his way as he charges, but he pays them no mind. Their startled cries echo across the platform and he rushes forwards, following his instincts around a corner and nearly rushing headfirst into the now matured visage of his target, one _Major Ocelot_.

He moves to dodge the swipe of Volgin's hand nearly instantly, likely already on alert from the men's commotion. Unfortunately for him, old cats aren't nearly as spry as they might once have been, and Volgin's fingers manage to latch around his forearm despite his efforts.

Volgin tackles him to the ground for good measure, not willing to take any chances with _this_. Snake may have been a fake, but Ocelot? He's most certainly real, as real as the satisfaction of vengeance nearly within Volgin's reach. He firmly pins the Major down, hearing and barely feeling the surrounding soldiers shooting at him. It seems as if they're actually distressed by Ocelot's predicament.

Volgin laughs. Major Ocelot with a band of loyal followers? How familiar.

The Major squirms beneath him, nearly breaking free of his hold before Volgin lets his flames burn brighter. A grunt escapes Ocelot and he rushes to cover his face, pulling his scarf over his mouth and nose, then tries again to maneuver himself out from under Volgin— to no avail.

There are more shouts from the men as they run back and forth, trying their best to take Volgin down with another barrage of bullets.

 _Fools_.

He increases the intensity of his flames and leers as Ocelot's clothes begin to catch alight. Of course, letting his clothes burn bit by bit would work wonders for the Major's sense of dread, but Volgin doesn't have that kind of time. Moving quickly, he rips open the shirt, yanks away the scarf, and tugs the belt undone. His flames burn all the while, keeping Ocelot's struggles at bay and helping Volgin make quick work of his clothes.

The men keep shouting and shooting, wasting away their ammunition out of either profound stupidity or sheer desperation. Volgin doesn't particularly care to know which, though it delights him to think that even so many decades later, the Major still lacks the skills needed to sufficiently train the men under his command.

Continuing to rip and burn his way through the garments, he finally has the nearly naked form of Major Ocelot lying beneath him, stubbornly persisting his efforts to squirm free.

But that just won't do.

Despite Volgin employing all the restraint he possesses to punch Ocelot's face, the blow still almost knocks him unconscious. He glares up through unfocused eyes, hands aimlessly flitting around. Volgin catches them both and takes great pleasure in peeling away those characteristic red gloves one by one. Then, taking advantage of Ocelot's lingering disorientation, he moves down to yank off those _ridiculous boots_. What's left of his mangled pants comes off along with them, and Volgin can see that he's sporting long white socks beneath.

Cute.

Volgin sneers and gets rid of them too. He glances up and notices the Major blinking rapidly, eyes starting to refocus. That's Volgin's cue to get the show started. He flips Ocelot over and straddles his back, employing his full weight to ensure no means of escape are left. With a chuckle, he notes the way Ocelot's skin is steadily getting covered in angry pink splotches, courtesy of his flames.

The moment the punch's effects dissipate becomes apparent when Ocelot starts his struggles anew, though now significantly hindered. The muscles in his back strain and writhe under Volgin's weight, and though he's undoubtedly stronger than he was all those years ago, he's still got no chance in hell of fighting his way free. Even so, there's no doubt that his continued resistance will be incredibly annoying to contend with for the duration of their time together.

The Major's men have stopped firing at last, and Volgin hears one of them yell out, asking what to do. He doesn't give Ocelot a chance to reply, punching him again, this time on the back of his head.

Just as before, the effect is immediate; Ocelot stills and squeezes his eyes shut, evidently trying his best to stabilize himself. He doesn't seem to notice anything amiss as Volgin begins to pull at his own suit. In a matter of seconds, the burnt rubber's been torn away, freeing his cock, already half-hard in anticipation of how the Major will suffer for being such a thorn in his side all those years ago.

Speaking of thorns in his side...

Volgin's entire body is covered in bullets, and his cock is no exception. The handful embedded in it protrudes at odd angles, grotesquely jutting out from the heavily veined skin. He contemplates Ocelot's form beneath him, already starting to squirm again, and takes a moment to savor the sight of his mostly immaculate body before sitting up and scooting back, taking his rapidly swelling cock in hand.

Ocelot still hasn't fully recovered from the punch, as evidenced by his failure to escape as soon as Volgin's weight is gone.

Oh, well. Much less hassle this way.

Volgin lifts Ocelot's hips and starts shoving into his ass before he can react. The head of his cock's barely slipped in when he hears a choked whimper. The Major's gone completely tense, which he really ought to know won't help minimize the pain in the least... Is he _that_ out of his wits from the punches alone?

Volgin brushes the question aside and places a hand on the center of Ocelot's back, keeping him down as he grabs his own cock with the other. It's only sunk in a little past the head, further progress impeded by the first in a series of several bullets adorning his shaft. He angles his cock to the side and keeps pushing, letting out a triumphant huff when the bullet slips in. It's a tight fit, only worsened by the new addition, but by no means does it merit the broken cry that escapes the Major's lips.

Oh, of course. Volgin's so used to his own flames that it takes him a moment to remember how heated the bullets embedded in his flesh must be. He pushes in further, the sizzle of Ocelot's insides exquisite against his cock.

He hears the men around them yelling in concern and anger, a cacophony of reassurances and obscenities. The Major shows no sign of acknowledgment, eyes shut tight and breaths growing heavier by the minute. The muscles in his jaw clench and his hands ball into fists as Volgin watches in delight.

Too overcome by the newfound slickness of blood bathing his cock—so refreshing against its burning surface—to waste any more time gauging all the reactions their little show is evoking, Volgin continues jamming his cock into the Major's clenched body. He dutifully works it in, bullet by bullet, sighing in satisfaction at each answering gush of slickness. Soon enough, he's buried as deep as he can go.

Ocelot mewls quietly, insides no doubt torn and burning. He's seemingly too lost in his pain to pull away when Volgin grabs both his wrists and yanks them back, nor when one of Volgin's arms winds its way behind his ass, down between his legs, and up his chest, hand settling on a shoulder.

Not missing a beat, Volgin lets go of Ocelot's wrists and shoots his other arm down alongside the first, settling it on the opposite shoulder and taking a moment to adjust their position. He bends the Major in two as he leans forward, perfectly slotting the crook of his elbows into the back of Ocelot's knees, then sits back on his heels, gradually standing all the way up.

His plan works just as he'd envisioned: The Major comes along with him, arms effectively trapped at his sides with only Volgin's fiery torso to struggle back against, entire body contorted into a helplessly exposed position. The revealing spread of his legs leaves nothing to the imagination, and Volgin relishes the way the men's faces twist in horror at the sight of the state he's in.

Twisting his neck forward, Volgin eagerly tries to catch a glimpse of Ocelot's own expression. Much to his amusement, it seems the Major's double-crossing skills are coming in handy, though his attempt at a poker face leaves much to be desired; Lips pressed together in a subtle grimace, brow furrowed, and long eyelashes fluttering in what's most likely pain of a sort he's never experienced before, the effect isn't half as convincing as Volgin had been expecting.

Even so, it seems that he's still got some fight left in him. He elbows back with renewed vigor as soon as he has the leverage to try, undeterred by the flames covering Volgin's body.

Admirable.

Volgin increases their heat in reply, and Ocelot cries out, ceasing his struggles. He gives a few halfhearted twists, only accomplishing another gush of blood to pour down Volgin's cock.

His insides must be a mess.

Volgin hasn't even started.

He slowly lifts Ocelot up, the bullets gradually slipping free of his ass and bringing with them the sickly dribble of burnt blood. A collective gasp leaves the gathered men. Volgin keeps lifting until only the head of his cock remains within the Major.

A few seconds go by where nothing happens, but then Volgin angles his hips and lowers Ocelot onto his cock once more. Both gravity and the sheer excess of blood work in his favor, smoothing the journey back in.

Ocelot's breath barely hitches.

As soon as he's all the way back in, Volgin's fingers tighten on the Major's shoulders: Time for the _real_ fun to start.

He jerks Ocelot up, only holding him for a split-second before letting gravity drag him down again, then repeats the process, building up a punishing rhythm and panting as his girth and bullets combine to destroy everything in their path. Ocelot's insides are slowly ravished, blood freely pouring down Volgin's length and falling to the platform. _Drip-drip-drip_ steadily turns into _splish-splish-splish_ as the puddle of red beneath them grows.

Volgin thinks he hears some of the men retch. A few have already run off, no doubt to get reinforcements, and a few others simply avert their eyes as best they can.

Some have a growing tent in their pants and hunger in their eyes. Volgin likes those.

The tenseness dissipates from Ocelot's muscles with each stab at his insides, his strength steadily giving way to exhaustion as Volgin's assault persists. Previously even breaths begin losing any semblance of composure, and Volgin finds himself wondering whether or not he might just die from it all.

Truth be told, it's highly doubtful. The Major's well-trained, and it's evident that the years have improved his defenses. Nonetheless, Volgin wants to even the odds.

If he doesn't die, then at least he'll _burn,_ just as Volgin _burned_.

There's still no sign of reinforcements arriving, and the men continue uselessly spectating. A few of them subtly reach for their crotches and grope their cocks, undetected by their worried comrades. Volgin chuckles to himself. Already _worried?_ They haven't seen anything yet.

He starts off by increasing the speed of his movements, actively yanking Ocelot back down on his cock before pushing him up again. His hips begin thrusting to meet Ocelot's ass each time, and his flames burn hotter still, blistering Ocelot's skin and singeing his hair.

Volgin idly wonders just how much more training Ocelot's had throughout the decades. He's holding up remarkably well considering his innards are being torn to pieces. Volgin grins. Destroying the Major so completely almost makes his cursed resurrection worth it. At least, his cock certainly seems to think so, twitching and throbbing as his orgasm draws ever nearer. His movements become more frenzied and his flames burn all the stronger.

Blood freely gushes from Ocelot, but despite his predicament, he remains ever the prideful feline, quietly enduring the assault as it reaches its peak. His skin is pale and clammy wherever it isn't burned raw, and he holds himself as far from Volgin as possible, which admittedly isn't much, but his back will probably thank him for it.

 _If_ he lives.

Volgin digs his fingers in tight and gives a few more thrusts, shooting boiling hot cum deep into the Major's insides. The pain is evidently too much for him and he lets out a soft wail, but it's not nearly enough to satisfy Volgin. No, he wants Ocelot to let go of any and all dignity he ever had.

Recovering from his release, Volgin takes a moment to survey the crowd around them. They seem much the same as ever, most of the men looking varying degrees of horrified and select others blatantly enjoying the show. The ones who ran off for reinforcements still aren't back, but are likely to return any second.

It's all the same to Volgin, he can feel the last of his strength ebbing away anyhow.

But...

He pulls a hand away from Ocelot's shoulder, freeing one of his legs and speedily refastening the hand around his waist, then mirrors the process on the other side, firmly holding him close. Apparently too weak to make a break for it, Ocelot stays put, dangling a few inches above the ground and bleeding profusely around the bullet-encrusted cock still buried within him. Soft, pained pants leave his lips, and for a moment, Volgin almost finds him as cute as he used to.

Then the moment passes, and Volgin trails one of his hands down the Major's front as gently as he can manage.

Ocelot winces.

Volgin quiets his flames and tries again, brushing across his hipbones.

Ocelot stays silent.

Reaching further down, Volgin teases the inside of his thighs, not quite touching his dick.

Still no response.

Volgin shifts his hand closer, carefully taking hold of Ocelot's dick and giving it a couple of strokes.

No response from either Ocelot or his dick.

Volgin's hand abandons its efforts, traveling past Ocelot's dick and reaching for his balls.

Ocelot holds his breath.

A gentle caress, followed by a soft squeeze...

Ocelot's frame tenses.

An increase of pressure, the feeling of the two small globes against his palm...

Ocelot whines low in his throat—

—Volgin lets go—

—Ocelot draws in a breath—

—Volgin clenches his fist as tightly as he can and Ocelot _howls_.

There's a distinct bursting sensation within Volgin's fist as Ocelot's balls are ruptured. A few of the surrounding men definitely retch this time, and Volgin thinks about ripping his hand away, effectively castrating the Major.

To his disappointment, Ocelot jerks forward before he can do it, body violently seizing as he vomits out the contents of his stomach. Volgin brings his hand back to Ocelot's waist as he continues lurching in place, throwing up until he's only dry heaving and clenching around the cock in his ass. Volgin holds him up throughout it, arousal returning in full-force.

Ocelot's writhing finally dies down and he's left wailing, uncontrollable shivers wracking his body. He might not die from the pain or burns alone, nor even from the internal bleeding—he's had much too much training to succumb so easily—but even so, none of the men watching will ever see the Major the same way again, and for that...

For that, Volgin is _happy_.

Ocelot continues twitching in his arms and Volgin feels the last of both their strength dwindling away. He wonders whether it'd be best to pull the Major off his cock and toss him into the mess on the floor, or simply leave him right where he is, to be helped free by his men.

He's tipping backwards before he can make a decision, but clutches Ocelot's ruined body tighter and fades away with a grin on his face.


End file.
